


Clichéproofed

by nicdbroc



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicdbroc/pseuds/nicdbroc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Friends with benefits" is a pretty easy concept when you're barely friends with the other perpetrator in this holy mess, right?</p><p>(Slight AU, where Silas is less creepy, Carmilla's still an ass and soy milk's still gunky.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clichéproofed

Laura doesn't mind Elsie.

 

Sure, she drones more than she talks, and she leaves crumbs all over the place when she tears into the fridge and demolishes the contents (minus the soy milk, because "soy milk is for cow-hating fucks") and she never takes her shoes off before stomping around the room. But Carmilla is a lot worse, so Laura supposes she can deal with harmless, monosyllabic Elsie.

 

The problem with Elsie is that she's one of many, and after Elsie there's Rose, and after Rose there is Shona, and after Shona - Laura loses track.

 

They're all pretty, very pretty, and Shona's actually read an entire book. Shona discusses _An Inspector Calls_ with Carmilla into the early hours of the morning, and suddenly Laura kind of misses Elsie's enthusiastic spinning of the chore-wheel and completely disregard for anything mildly cultural.

 

"You know," Laura says one day, after a particularly exhausting day of hard work in class and hard work in the library, and Carmilla's still dozing in her bed, "if you didn't spend your nights f - canoodling - with your - your _mistresses_ , your attendance might actually go up."

 

"Alright Ms. Plath - save the lecture for another time." Carmilla's voice is muffled by the blanket and pillow - _her_ pillow, Laura realises, indignantly - smothering her face, but the snark is crystal-clear. "Perhaps I'll make use of my GPS. Configure my phone into sending you an alarm for when I'm at least three-miles clear, and then you can squeak and be irate about my _mistresses_ then."

 

"Come on, like you'd know how to set up a GPS. You barely know what Tumblr is."

 

"Oh please, save me the drivel; I'm not a complete idiot who can't work a computer. I just don't care for scrolling through a thousand words of a horny Harry Potter -"

 

"That's not what -"

 

"- and I can certainly do without the whole ' _this world we live in is so messed up_ ' crap."

 

Carmilla says it so nonchalantly, and Laura thinks that maybe she cares too much about what other people think about her, or issues that don't involve her at all - or maybe she just cares too much full stop. It flicks a switch inside her. A particularly angry switch. Carmilla rolls out of bed, her hair still mussed, swipes her rucksack from the floor and smirks at the webcam stuck neatly over the top of Laura's laptop. "Last thing this world needs is one more gung-ho champion of justice."

 

"That is _not_ what blogging is about," Laura snaps. "You know, it's better to spread the word and raise awareness - and - what are _you_ doing for the world? Lazing around being all disaffected and reading philosophy and bedding - women -"

 

"Now that you mention it," Carmilla says, "that - no, no, my life _does_ still sound more interesting. Sorry, sugar plum."

 

"You know you're actually better than that," Laura spits out, surprised by the venom in her voice. She thinks maybe Carmilla is too, with the way she hovers behind Laura's chair - just for a split second - and then the door swings open (she can never hear Carmilla walk over to the door, she's so damn quiet) and Laura shouts, " _and you're not sorry_!"

 

The door slams shut.

 

 

-

 

 

It's not that they don't get on. It's not that Laura hasn't made an effort. It's just every time Carmilla (inadvertently) does something nice for her, she seems to wrestle with this stupid urge to make up for it by being a class-A dick for the next day or two. It's that every time LaFontaine and Perry visit, Carmilla's sort of civil and the moment Danny, her glorious - _glorious_ lit TA - pokes her head in to say hello, Carmilla sneers and suddenly she's not holding _A Brave New World_ anymore, she's holding _The BFG_.

 

The 'study buddies' make things worse. Sometimes laughter is the best medicine, but Elsie is a thing that has now occurred _three times_ and her laughter is now as pleasant as a crowbar jammed up the ass. But they leave after a while, because Elsie's roomie "likes Carmilla" and, _really_ , Laura's not stupid, as good as she looks in the leather pants - a threesome - so early on in the semester?

 

It drives her up the wall. Stubbornly, she sticks to her vlogging and her Tuesday updates; there _is_ an audience for a wide-eyed, somewhat obtuse journalism major. Her views are solid proof. Maybe she'll update more. And it doesn't bug her, that her enigmatic roommate is off somewhere doing things to some girl, because - it just doesn't.

 

"You should probably try Tinder, though," LaFontaine says, plucking at Carmilla's duvet. "I mean, when her bed smells so much more of sex than yours, you know you need to do something."

 

"She doesn't do her business here," Laura shoots back.

 

LaF chuckles. "I know, I know - I'm just kidding, Laura -"

 

"And it isn't a competition," she adds for good measure. "Maybe I'd like to wait for someone special."

 

"Yeah, well." LaF sighs. Laura thinks it's wistful, or it could just be lightly mocking. "Don't we all."

 

They fall silent. Laura is already thinking of the theme for her next video: one true love. She isn't a sap by any means, but Jane Austen was one cool lady and she believed in it enough to write Darcy. If Jane Austen could do that -

 

"Okay," she relents, ashamed. "Maybe I don't."

 

"You know, Danny likes pie."

 

 

-

 

 

Her pie filling is about as bright as Danny's hair, which is quietly disturbing. It's easy, hanging out with Danny. Sure, Danny's beauty stalls her ability to speak on roughly five occasions, but Danny's nice. Danny smiles, and Danny shovels pie into her mouth in a disgusting manner to make her laugh. It's still kind of attractive, which is embarrassing, but Danny is the kind of person who - if she noticed the way Laura's eyes fixated on the spot of cream above her lip - simply brushes it off. Danny actually gives a shit about whether or not Laura's uncomfortable, or self-conscious, and she does something about it.

 

They talk about English Lit, and about the Charlie the pretentious moron who thinks everyone's beneath him because he's read a Wikipedia article about Tennyson, about how impossible that last essay had been.

 

"You're a bit of a dork, Hollis," Danny laughs, when Laura winds up with crumbs covering a good portion of her face and wipes it off with her napkin - a napkin with a heavy dollop of cream on it. "Here." She throws over her napkin - clean, because she isn't a messy child - and Laura wipes her face. Tries to wipe off the deep blush on her cheeks. "So, are you trying to bump up your grade with pie, or...?"

 

Laura grins. "No, but if you're offering..."

 

Danny grins right back at her. "You got the wrong TA."

 

"I just thought it'd be nice to hang out," Laura says, once her eyes - so unused to all that intense eye-contact - have dropped back to her empty plate. "I mean, I - thought we got on so well during class, and I thought that maybe, if you didn't have anything better to do -"

 

"Easy, Hollis, easy." Danny's laughing again. "You don't stop, do you?"

 

"No. I actually think that's where my problem lies."

 

"Well, I say you keep going. Save some for another time, though." Danny calls the waiter, and throws a wink her way. "Next time you're buying."

 

 

-

 

 

Danny walks her back to her dorm room and stays for a cup of cocoa. Carmilla is a silent fixture on her bed, nose buried in some horrendous, thick-looking bit of text. They chat for a little, and Laura tries to glance over (inconspicuously) at Carmilla, see if she's doing the classic TV thing of "hey, you say you're reading but you haven't turned a damn page", but she's reading at a disappointingly normal rate which means, of course, that she doesn't give enough of a shit to eavesdrop.

 

Laura squeals a bit when the door shuts, because she _went for pie with Danny Lawrence_ , and LaF's a complete genius - the sciencey types always are.

 

"Well," Carmilla says, from behind her book, "I can feel the sparks all the way over _here_."

 

"You know, your sarcasm isn't gonna register right now," Laura says. "Too much of a sugar high to care."

 

"You sure it's just the pie?"

 

Laura flops down on the bed, not fully lying back (there was a lot of pie). "Come on, at least save the mocking for another time?"

 

"I'm not mocking," Carmilla says.

 

When she has the energy to crick her neck to the side, she can see that Carmilla's book is facing down on her lap, and she's looking right at her. Right through her, it feels more like. And she thinks if she squints enough, Carmilla's lips are curved upwards. Just a little.

 

 

-

 

 

 

They go for pie a few more times. Danny is so painfully good-looking, so nice and so charming that it actually makes up for the fact that they essentially talk about the same thing every time they eat the goddamn pie. Danny also insists on walking her back to her room every time, and every time they say they'll see each other in class, and Laura will push the door open and they'll do the awkward 'bye, bye, see ya, see ya' thing and then Danny leans down to peck her on the cheek and goes.

 

Another constant in the room is Carmilla, who - after the civility of the first pie date - has since reverted back to her sullen self.

 

After the fourth pie date, Carmilla says from her bed, "I can still feel the sparks."

 

By now, Laura's developed the optimum pillow height for equal parts relaxation and digestion aid. She glances over. She can't bring herself to scowl. "You suck."

 

It sends her into a glum mood for the next few days. Danny is literally the most perfect human being alive, and the sparks - the _goddamn sparks_ \- are not there. It's like a New Year's Eve without the fireworks: there's no point standing in the fucking drizzle outside for nothing. It's confusing. Most girls her age seem to be searching for the perfect person (well, at least the girls from her Lit class). She finds one and for some reason can't bring herself to want her. That way. Sometimes she hates the fact that _The BFG_ is still sitting proudly on her bookshelf. Carmilla is a dick. And so is Roald Dahl.

 

Another long work day and another cup of cocoa set down by her desk. Laura doesn't mind so much that it's _her_ cocoa Carmilla drinks, not when she makes her a mug too. This time, when Carmilla sets down the mug and flops down onto her bed again, she says: "No Xena today?"

 

Laura, so hunched over her laptop that it takes a lot of effort to turn around, glares at her. "Why are you even asking?"

 

Carmilla shrugs. "You mean it wasn't obvious how invested I was in your...weird symbiosis with each other?"

 

"You make me sound like a lichen."

 

"A lichen, a tree - I told you. You're perfect for each other."

 

"Okay, _seriously_ , if you're just going to rip it out of me for the rest of the night can you at least -"

 

"I'm just saying, lichens can grow on trees or whatever but they also grow a lot on gravestones too," Carmilla says, like some delusional, pseudo-wise doucheface (a philosophy major, Laura remembers). "You'll find something else to grow on."

 

"Gee, _thanks_ ," Laura - despite everything: the failed attempt at a forced romance, the shitty pie - laughs. "I knew you were full of crap."

 

Carmilla gives her a lopsided smile and returns to her book. It may be the first time she's seen Carmilla smile. It's fitting, Laura thinks, that it's the result of a successful jibe at her.

 

 

-

 

 

"Tinder is such a letdown," LaFontaine groans, chin resting against Laura's shoulder. She's not even really in control of her phone. LaF's hand is faffing about, swiping right with such vigour that it's almost dizzying. "I swear some of these girls aren't human."

 

Perry, over in the kitchen space, huffs. "Don't be so rude, LaFontaine."

 

"I'm just saying, we're in Austria. Land of the yodel. They should at least look nice."

 

"Superficial," Perry sniffs.

 

" _Tinder_ ," LaF returns. "It's encouraged to be superficial."

 

"She wasn't bad," Laura pipes up, and - too late, she's gone, "don't you think maybe you're setting the bar like, way too high?"

 

"I'm not gonna give you a low bar, Laura," LaF says. "If anything, you deserve the highest of the high."

 

"I'm flattered, but -"

 

"Oh come on," LaF seizes the phone, as the door swings open and Carmilla stomps in. It takes her a moment to adjust to the presence of two additional people in the room, but it's just LaF and Perry - she'd decided a while ago that they were harmless, 'if a little irritating'. LaF shoots her a grin. "Hey, Carmilla, tell Laura that if even if she's gagging for it, she's got to settle for nothing less than the best?"

 

Carmilla dumps her bag on the floor. She glances at the phone in LaF's hand, where the picture is one hundred percent boob and not much else. Then she glances back over towards Laura, a silent, humiliated beetroot. Scoffs. "Do you particularly enjoy breathing down her neck all the time or am I just imagining extreme level of your obsession?"

 

 LaF shrugs. "Had to breathe down her neck to look at the phone. Not my problem."

 

They stand-off against each other for a moment, and just when Laura thinks she's about to shrivel up in embarrassment, just before she goes to stand up and reclaim her phone (after all that time convincing her dad to buy her a new one, she's sure _Tinder_ is not something he'd appreciate), Carmilla nods towards the screen. "I suppose at least she's got good breasts."

 

Laura claps her hands over her face. Perry's sigh of _"ladies"_ is drowned out by the sound of LaF's raucous laughter. It makes her want to sink deeper into her armchair (fuck LaF) and slip into a Tinder-less haven.

 

 

-

 

 

"You should definitely come, though," Kirsch says, so wonderfully oblivious to the glower on Carmilla's face that it's almost entertaining. "Come on, Zeta parties are the best! The biggest! I will personally reserve you two kegs, moody-hottie, I promise."

 

Carmilla's growl is subdued by Laura's careful elbow to the ribs. She winces. "I'm not drinking two kegs of some frat boy urine, Kirsch. I can think of better things to do."

 

" _Better things_ usually means _not fun things_ , be a bro and come along."

 

"First off, I'm not a _bro_ -"

 

"You could be." Kirsch grins. "I'm sure the other bros would agree. A bro is a bro, and a hot bro is even better."

 

"That doesn't make sense. This is actually hurting my brain -"

 

"Besides, you gotta go with a hottie," Kirsch adds, standing up. It's entirely made up, because his face had contorted in such pain that he _had_ to be thinking of a lie. Laura narrows her eyes at him, and he only shrugs in return. "So if you're a no-show then you're gonna ruin nerd-hottie's night too." He gestures over towards Laura, and backs over towards the door. "So..."

 

"Well, _that's_ fair," Laura snaps when he pushes the door open, grinning. " _Kirsch_!"

 

"Danny's going," Will says. "She says you two have been texting again."

 

Laura can feel the blood rushing to the tips of her ears, burning, with the added heat of Carmilla's eyes pinned to the side of her head. She suddenly wishes for a TARDIS, and then Carmilla sneers, "When did _you_ get into the room?"

 

Will leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms, shows his impressive arm muscles. "I make quiet entrances, what the fuck is it to you?"

 

"Come on," Kirsch says, when Carmilla stands up. Her back is rigid and so is her jaw. Laura is certain she's about to deck someone, but Kirsch is the only one who seems to notice and care. Will inclines his head, smirk plastered on his face. Kirsch presses a hand to his chest. "Dude, I think we should go. You know what chicks are like on the blob."

 

This time, Laura joins in.

 

" _Get out_!"

 

Kirsch whimpers as they scat.

 

For someone who is so generally blasé, Carmilla doesn't let the incident go. "On the blob," she mutters the next day when she wakes up deep into the afternoon, and Laura's just returned from Lit class and a drawn-out, painful apology from Kirsch. Her lower back is killing after a long day of sitting (who would've thought it would be so exhausting) and she plonks her rucksack on her bed, feeling Carmilla's eyes on her the entire time. "You have a peculiar taste in friends."

 

"That's just Kirsch." Laura rubs her eyes. "He's like that. It takes some getting used to. He's harmless."

 

"Oh yeah? So harmless that he's not letting you, _resident nerd-hottie_ , to his party if I don't accompany you? Isn't that some kind of party blackmail? God, saying it sounds even more stupid than it is..."

 

"It'd be a party blackmail if I cared about going at all," Laura huffs. "I don't like beer pong _that_ much."

 

"No..." Carmilla draws out the sound, like she's got something else to say, and Laura glances over. "I feel like you would play all the beer pong in the world if it meant catching a word with Ms. Bellum though, right?"

 

" _No_. And I'm not dragging you along to some Zeta orgy just so I can say 'hi' to my Lit TA who went I went on four pie dates with, and only four because I couldn't stomach a fifth."

 

"Ouch."

 

"Seriously. I'm not bothered. It's only LaF and Perry going really, so -"

 

"Oh my _god_ ," Carmilla groans. "Just _go_ to the damn thing. Nobody's going to turn you away if you show up; it's not as if Kirsch's short term memory stretches as far as the conversation we had yesterday -"

 

"I _mean_ ," Laura interjects - it's rude to cut in but Carmilla's doubly rude, so - "we could go together."

 

Laura makes a mental note for later: an effective way of shutting her obnoxious, aloof roommate-from-hell up is  to invite her to a party. Carmilla frowns at her, but doesn't reply. It makes her think, firstly, 'shit' - and secondly, 'how quickly can I backtrack?'. "I - thought - we sort of got off to a rough start, didn't we? But...I think we're friends," she says tentatively, and Carmilla's frown remains. "So we can go together, and I'll get all your drinks so you don't have to talk to Kirsch..."

 

The frown stays. Carmilla snorts, lets out a noise that sounds like a "hm" - but when she stands up to wander off again for the next few hours - she smiles, briefly. "Let me take care of the alcohol. I'm not spending a night drinking the Zetas' watered-down Budweiser."

 

"Please don't say your drink of choice is absinthe," Laura says. Carmilla seems the type.

 

Carmilla laughs. "Have a little class, cutie."

 

 

-

 

 

"She certainly likes the...Sapphic lifestyle," Perry says carefully, eyes wide, sipping at her drink. The three of them - LaF, Perry and Laura - are staring across the room, where Carmilla's chatting to Elsie, with another girl draped all over her left side.

 

"I didn't think she was _that_ big of a lesbian," LaF notes. "Like, she's actually got a harem."

 

Laura rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, we're at college, there aren't any _harems_."

 

"She's got a harem."

 

"That is not a harem. She's just talking to two girls. That's perfectly normal."

 

"They don't seem her type, if you don't mind me saying," Perry says. "I thought they'd be a lot less... isn't that one of Danny's Summer Society girls?"

 

LaF clears their throat. "If she's got a harem, _clearly_ , she's not all into 'types' -"

 

"It's not a harem -"

 

"- Oh, round again, fun carousel we're on tonight, right Per?"

 

"I'm going to do some shots," Laura declares, hating the way her cheeks flame up, hating LaF's cocky whoop of joy (it's better than them repeating the word 'harem' for the rest of the night, she supposes) and storms off. The duo follow hot on her trail. She can hear them chatting behind her, Perry insisting they chaperone her and LaF snickering, " _I've never seen her beyond three beers, I'm so excited_ ".

 

It takes Laura two sambuca shots and two tequila shots before she feels woozy enough to admit to herself that she's a little mad at Carmilla.

 

Sure, it hadn't taken a lot to convince her to go to the party together, as roommates, as _friends_. But it had taken honesty, and it had taken her recognising that they hadn't gotten off to the best start. She can still see Carmilla, now sitting in the corner of the room in conversation with one of the girls from her philosophy class, still swigging that bottle of bison grass vodka like it's a normal thing to drink. The worst thing is, she's being completely irrational. It's not acceptable to freak on your roommate for going to a party and interacting with people. That's probably what parties are _for_ , come to think of it.

 

So she dances for a bit, wiggles around into strange conformations she didn't think she'd ever be able to achieve. She's pretty sure she rests her head against someone's breasts for a moment, and when she sees Kirsch she hugs him so hard she drools a bit on his shirt. At some point, LaF wanders off so she has a shot of Sourz and half a cup of beer, and this dulls Perry's high-pitch into an almost-pleasant buzz.

 

When they next see LaF, they're completely trashed and they've got a disgruntled Carmilla in tow. "So I couldn't find Danny," LaF shouts over the music, and Carmilla _glares_. "But I found Carmilla!"

 

"Oh," Laura shouts back, eyes unfocused. "How're you?"

 

"I've had better introductions," Carmilla says, smooth and calm as always but still somehow heard over the thumping sound system. "How are _you_ , I think I should ask? Did you try to motorboat Jenny?"

 

"Jenny?"

 

"She said -"

 

"How many of these study buddies have you _got_?" LaF asks in admiration. "And how do you remember all their names?"

 

"I'm a very popular person," Carmilla says, and the trio snort.

 

Laura can hear LaF's voice piercing through the haziness of her mind: _well, she's got a harem, so it seems she's a damn sight more popular than us..._ When she glances back over towards LaF, she can tell they're probably thinking the same. Perry finishes off her drink and grabs LaF by the collar. "Come on," she says, firm. "Let's dance."

 

" _Let's dance_ ," LaF mouths in disbelief as they get tugged away.

 

That leaves the two of them. Carmilla watches her for a moment, lips quirked upwards into a half-smile. She's made good progress into her seven-hundred ml's of bison grass vodka, but she doesn't seem unsteady in the slightest. Laura thinks she is keening to the side a little, and maybe she's right because Carmilla's hand is firm and cold on her waist. They walk out in silence. The instant the cold air hits her in the face, so does sobriety (well - sobriety's less sober cousin) and suddenly Carmilla's eyes aren't as blurry, suddenly Carmilla doesn't seem so far away.

 

 They sit down on a bench and don't talk, mainly because Laura's working so hard not to blurt something utterly _stupid_ out. Carmilla seems content staring up at the night sky.

 

It takes fifteen minutes for the nausea to settle, and when it does, she doesn't feel that drunk anymore. Maybe it was just the stuffy atmosphere inside, maybe it was Jenny's breasts (she prays to God that she never sees that girl ever again). She claws back a bit of life (no dignity as of yet) and when she finally lifts her head from her bowed position, Carmilla takes it as a sign that she's completely puke-free and nudges her on the side.

 

"You alright, waster?"

 

"I'm actually not that drunk," Laura croaks. "Just immensely regretful. And I'm so cold I can't feel my anything except for - maybe my fingers?"

 

"Well. I suppose that's all you need sometimes." She can hear the teasing in Carmilla's voice - so silky, so melt-in-your-mouth - _damn_ \- and then there's a leather jacket thrown over her lap.

 

Laura glances to the side and her eyes pop out. "I'm not leaving you in a _corset_ , Carmilla."

 

"I'm not cold."

 

"You're not - _it's freezing_! I think my face is going to _fall off_!"

 

Carmilla doesn't say anything, only levels at her with a stare, and Laura mumbles a thanks before settling into the jacket. Carmilla is probably a size, or half a size, smaller than she is, so it's not the big lumbering envelope of warmth that'd be ideal in this situation, but Carmilla's shoulder is pressing against her and that seems warm enough.

 

Danny comes out ten minutes later, calling her name. Carmilla shifts beside her, moves apart, and everything feels a tinier bit colder until there's an arm wrapping around her shoulder. Danny's cheeks flush when she sees them. Laura thinks they're probably about as pink as each other. Carmilla doesn't say a word.

 

"Hey," Danny says, unsteadily. She keeps her eyes fixed on Laura. "Just came to see if you were okay."

 

Laura nods. "I'm okay. I mean, I'm still conscious, so that's always a good thing."

 

"Right. Yeah, you never know with the Zetas' punch." Danny smiles, and then turns her attention to Carmilla. It's amazing, because Danny's a TA and she's confident and she regularly bosses around a large group of super-fit, super-athletic, super-competitive girls and she never has any trouble talking, but the moment she sets her eyes on Carmilla it's like there's a chicken bone lodged in her throat. "Keeping covered up, Karnstein?"

 

"I was," Carmilla says. "But this one managed not to vomit so I thought I'd reward her with a coat, you know."

 

"You sure you don't want one of the guys' sweaters?"

 

"I can handle myself just fine." There's a pause, and then Carmilla says - _forces out_ \- so much so that she somehow surpasses Danny's discomfort: "thanks."

 

"Uh." Danny scratches her head. The civility makes everyone squirm, but civility - it doesn't last for longer than a second, not between them at least - Danny coughs and says, sternly - like a TA: "Well, look after her then. If she catches a cold I'm sticking your head on a spike."

 

Carmilla sniggers. "She can take care of herself. She catches a cold, she's entirely to blame."

 

Danny opens her mouth, snaps it shut, and then stalks away.

 

 

-

 

 

Laura climbs into her bed the moment they stumble through the door. The cold air has somewhat revived her, which is always a bonus - but Carmilla's still going strong. The vodka's not finished but she places that on the side, opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne. It's got fancy font on the label, none of that corner-shop Times New Roman, and it looks vintage - well, Laura's got no idea but it looks really fucking expensive, anyway.

 

"You don't get cold and you can drink a Zeta under the table," Laura notes.

 

"Well done, Journalism," Carmilla says, pouring the champagne into a glass. She gestures over towards Laura. "You want some?"

 

"No," Laura says. "I think it's probably better if I don't."

 

Carmilla shrugs and takes a sip of the champagne. Laura doesn't bother asking where she got it from - there's two possibilities right now: either Carmilla's damn rich, or she's an exceptional wine-cellar burglar. The burglar is slightly more likely, if only because Carmilla walks so quietly and if she was so rich she wouldn't steal Laura's stuff all the time.

 

"No Elsie tonight?" It's baffling, how often people ask questions they don't want the answer to.

 

Carmilla raises an eyebrow. "Are you kicking me out of the room for something?"

 

"What - no, I was just wondering! I mean, you two were pretty close earlier -"

 

"We were just talking. If I had to sleep with every girl I spoke to, well - I'd live a very busy life." Carmilla smirks, because when Laura squirms it's obvious, but when drunk Laura squirms it's pretty much a fit. " _You_ would never have a minute spare in the day, the way you go off on your tangents. Come to think of it," Carmilla leaves the sentence hanging for a moment because she is a bitch, and then she says, "maybe you _should_ put your mouth to better use."

 

Maybe it's the corset, or maybe it's the way Carmilla doesn't break eye contact for a good thirty seconds - whatever it is, reduces Laura to a gaping fish. ' _Shit_ ' is the dominant thought in her mind, and she stares at her feet when she realises she's been staring at Carmilla for a discerning amount of time.

 

"I'm putting Top Gun on," she announces, loudly. Carmilla groans. "What?"

 

"I've heard enough of that godforsaken song on your Spotify, you really need to put on the film as well?"

 

"How have you _not_ seen - do you watch films at all, or -"

 

"I don't watch the shitty ones," Carmilla grumbles. "And yes, I know what Putlocker is, don't bother."

 

"Just checking," Laura says. "Sometimes I doubt it."

 

"I own a smartphone."

 

"Come on." Balancing the laptop in one hand, Laura scoots over towards the wall and pats the now-free space next to her. "You're not gonna go to sleep anyway. I'm giving you an education."

 

"Ridiculous," is all Carmilla says, but she climbs into the space beside her all the same.

 

They don't make it far, before Carmilla interjects with, "reckless idiot" and "I hate him already, and it's not even because it's Tom Cruise" and then "but Tom Cruise is a big factor."

 

"I'd also like to say," Carmilla says, and the champagne bottle is nearly gone, "that if that blonde lady ends up with him, she's _really_ lowering her standards."

 

Laura buries her face into her hands. "Oh my god," she groans, "are you going to pick at _everything_?"

 

"They _do_ end up together, don't they? God, I knew it -"

 

"He's a pilot! He's a _maverick_! You think he's _not_ going to end up with the hot blonde?"

 

It makes her angry borderline psycho, and she scrunches up her face so hard that when she unscrunches it, she has to blink out the spots in her eyes. Carmilla grins and then shrugs it off, returning her gaze to the laptop screen. There's a blissful few minutes of silence. Then: "Hot blondes your type?"

 

Laura smacks the pause button on the screen, turns around to punch Carmilla - as hard as she can - on the shoulder. Krav maga, she thinks triumphantly, when Carmilla yelps in surprise (and hopefully pain). Turning her chin up, she presses the play button and Tom Cruise starts speaking again, the small idiot of a man, and Carmilla laughs and snakes an arm around her waist. Laura doesn't move.

 

 

-

 

 

"You've peed like eight times now," Carmilla says. "We've still got forty minutes to go."

 

Laura scowls at her, and climbs back into bed. It takes a while to readjust the laptop screen tilt, and for her to wriggle about sufficiently enough to be comfortable, to make sure her toes are covered by the blanket. "I don't understand how _you're_ not peeing," Laura grunts, though her petulance is somewhat sated by Carmilla's arm again, settling around her waist. Carmilla tugs her closer, and maybe this is drunk Carmilla after all - she's just slightly touchy and a mark less scathing. She thinks about the Motorboating Jenny Incident and decides that Carmilla's lucky she's not an embarrassing drunk. "You drank like fifty litres of alcohol."

 

"I think I'd be unconscious if I drank fifty litres of alcohol."

 

"You think you'd be as handsy if you drank fifty litres?"

 

Carmilla, with enough purpose to be classed as _being a dick_ , pushes the hem of Laura's top up so her fingers brush over skin, over her waist. Laura doesn't give her the satisfaction of shivering, though it only seems to spur Carmilla on. She leans in and says, "You want me to stop?"

 

"I," Laura gulps. Ignores Carmilla's grin. "Want to watch the rest of the film."

 

"Spoilsport," Carmilla teases. "You gave Jenny-the-tits more attention than you did me."

 

Laura's temper snaps in time with her snapping the laptop lid shut. The sound is loud, and the room seems a thousand times quieter - as nonsensical as that notion is. She thinks even Carmilla is surprised when she clambers off the bed, laptop tucked under her arm, and places it back onto the desk.

 

"I thought no-one watched Top Gun of their own volition," Carmilla tries, when Laura turns back towards her and makes her way back over to the bed. She climbs back on. "Clearly...Laura?"

 

She has settled over Carmilla, legs either side of her waist, and waits a split-second. Waits for realisation to smack her heavy-drinking, heavy-thinking roommate in the face. She only lets her _realise_ , though, and doesn't allow enough time for her to act, because she is in charge and she deserves to be in charge because Carmilla's been slagging off one of her favourite films for the past hour now. So she cups Carmilla's face with her hands, leans in, and kisses her.

 

Carmilla doesn't react immediately. It's not quite romance-novel worthy yet (no wrestling tongues and no flames of desire spouting up from their pits of arousal) but Laura is proud. Proud because a.) Carmilla is off-guard, and b.) she enjoys getting what she wants, and god help her, she is getting an A+ for this.

 

They've had a little too much alcohol to start chaste, and it's messy and Laura giggles when Carmilla nips at her bottom lip, grins like a fool when they knock their foreheads against each other, for a moment.

 

Carmilla kisses her, her hands wandering up the back of Laura's thighs, pushing her skirt up. "Is this the bit where you ask me to finger you for the last forty minutes?"

 

"Oh my _God_." Laura tips her head back to laugh, and wraps her arms around Carmilla's neck. "Shut up."

 

"Rich coming from you."

 

She _does_ shut up in the end, though Laura doesn't, berating Carmilla for the lack of care shown to her top after she'd yanked it off, snickering at the clumsy struggle with the clasp of her bra, a firm "nothing up the ass" - which is promptly silenced by a kiss. Carmilla's making the tiniest, softest noises, her tongue sliding gently over Laura's, and all she can do is gasp in her mouth. Gasp and push down onto Carmilla's lap, desperate for some friction - anything - and she briefly thinks about all the other girls Carmilla's done this to, the leggy ones and the bookish ones. She grapples for Carmilla's hand, and pulls it between her thighs.

 

"Someone's eager," Carmilla says, and Laura grinds down harder in her lap - _this isn't a time for jokes, you asinine douche_   - she thinks the message sinks in when Carmilla tugs her underwear aside and pushes two fingers inside.

 

There is, thankfully, no lewd comment about how wet she is - instead Carmilla's lips latch onto her throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up the side, gentle and then sucking hard. Laura throws her head back, managing a strangled "oh _God_ ", hips moving frantically, out-of-sync with the steady rhythm of Carmilla's fingers. Carmilla's hand, the one that's not working between her thighs, is roaming up the side of her body, cupping, massaging her breasts, playing idly with her nipple. It's driving her crazy, and so's the quickening pace of Carmilla's fingers, rubbing over her clit, pushing deeper in, curling. Laura reaches out with her left hand to steady herself against the headboard. Carmilla whispers low, voice steady considering how vigorously she's fucking Laura. She kisses languidly, but most of the time she is content with resting their foreheads together as Laura pants against her face, hips finding a rhythm.

 

It doesn't take very long for Laura to go careening over the edge (embarrassingly). Carmilla swallows her moan with a kiss, and when Laura finally blinks the spots away from her eyes, Carmilla's watching her.

 

"That all you got, cutie?" She's trying to sound offhand, Laura realises, because her cheeks are slightly pink and her pupils are blown out wide.  She watches as Carmilla brings her fingers to her lips, making a show out of sucking them clean. Laura narrows her eyes.

 

"Shut up," she says, and at least Carmilla obliges to that and kisses her.

 

 

-

 

 

Laura is babbling for a solid seven, probably eight, minutes before Carmilla wakes up. It's reassuring to know that Carmilla, Silas University's biggest sex demon, does not look good, hungover at eleven o'clock in the morning. She swipes at the air with a limp hand, probably in the hope of hitting Laura's face. She doesn't seem to be too fazed by the fact that they're both in bed _naked_ , because clearly she does this _all the time_ , and the sunlight streaming through the window is clearly a step too much. Carmilla growls, and Laura smacks her with a pillow.

 

"Wake up, you lazy sod," she huffs. "Carmilla!"

 

"You can't spin me a ' _oh my god what happened last night_ ' here," Carmilla says, and even when she's so disgruntled she manages to take the mickey out of Laura's voice. It's about ten octaves higher than it should be. The pitch seems to hurt both of them. "We fucked for _so long_ that it's literally impossible you forgot any of it."

 

"I'm well aware of that," Laura hisses, as if someone's listening. "And I'm also aware we had sex, judging by how naked we are -"

 

"Really? That's what gave it away? _I_ can still remember the number of times I made you come, and I sure as hell bet that you can too -"

 

"Oh my god, will you get over yourself for a second," Laura sighs. Five is the figure she has in her head. "Look, I know college, for you, is all about one night stands and not going to class and copious sex but -" she sputters, like a sad, broken car engine. A single eye pokes out from under the duvet and watches her. "Well, _I_ haven't had a college one-night stand before, so."

 

Laura genuinely thinks that Carmilla's going to turn over and drift back off to sleep, but - she's been full of surprises lately - she pushes the duvet away from her face. "It's no big deal," she says. "It's just sex."

 

"I know, I know. I _know_. I just...I don't know. I just didn't think I was into that."

 

"And you are?"

 

"Well," Laura clears her throat. "I'm not exactly opposed. You know. Seeing as I've now done it."

 

"Don't try and sound too over-the-moon," Carmilla drawls. "I suppose you want to elope now?"

 

"That's not what I mean. And absolutely not," Laura says hastily. She says it anyway, even though Carmilla's snickering at her. She doesn't have the energy to hit her with the pillow again. She also doesn't mention the fact that her thighs kind of ache, because she is _not_ going to give Carmilla the satisfaction. "Look. I'm sure you probably know that I come on...quite strong." Carmilla snorts, loudly. "I was just scared that, I don't know, I've watched too many rom-coms."

 

Carmilla clearly gets the idea (maybe she _has_ watched a couple of Matthew McConaugheys), shifts so she's sitting up straighter. She doesn't bother covering herself up. "Well? Have you fallen in love with me?"

 

"Obviously _not_."

 

"Then problem solved, sweetiepie." Carmilla reclines, closes her eyes. "You've passed How To Do A One-Night Stand: For Dummies. Do you want me to ask Perry, see if she'll bake you a cake that says ' _Congratulations! You Don't Think Sex Is A Big Deal!'_ or is that a bit too much?"

 

"Ugh, you're an idiot." The request of ' _come on, be serious_ ' dies on her lips when she realises she already feels a little better, though the leftover alcohol sloshing about in her liver is still working away at her. "I actually wouldn't mind a brownie, though. And a cup of cocoa."

 

"Get it yourself, you're a big girl."

 

"You're an idiot," she repeats, but she settles back in bed, under the covers. _I'm probably still drunk,_ she reasons to herself. LaF had once drunkenly gone for a morning run in their pyjamas. It happens.

 

"I can hear you being awake," Carmilla says after a while. Laura's still staring blankly at the ceiling. She's about to ask _how_ , and is given: "you think really loud."

 

"I think loud?"

 

"Yeah, kind of whiney too." Carmilla shifts to the side when she's met by sullen silence, so she's facing Laura. "If the one-night stand really bothers you," she says, reaching out with a hand. She rests it against Laura's stomach, waits for a moment for Laura to swat it away. When she doesn't, she says, "we can just make it a two-night stand."

 

"A two-night stand - in what world is that helping anything?"

 

"Well firstly, you get more of me going down on you," Carmilla reasons (very reasonable), "and secondly, if you think a one-night stand is such a bad mistake, then two nights is an active decision. Two nights it becomes just sex. I'll throw in the disclaimer of _don't go falling in love with me, sweetheart_ as well. For your convenience." The love joke's a little bit funnier now, now that it seems so ludicrous. Carmilla raises her eyebrows. 

 

"I've watched too many rom-coms," Laura says again. She clasps her hand over Carmilla's, resting on her stomach. "I think I know how to avoid that rabbit hole."

 

 

-

 

 

They fuck. A lot.

 

Laura's not sure what exactly she was expecting, and to be fair, she still goes to her classes and turns in her work on time and at the end of that, Carmilla's lips are kissing along her jawline and she's nipping at her earlobe and - well, it's nice to be rewarded for three thousand words with sex. That's something.

 

If Carmilla's attendance was poor before, she's now quite sure that her attendance is point blank zero. She sleeps through the day, lounges about whilst Laura finishes off her homework, fucks her senseless through the mattress and then dozes off again.

 

Another thing: Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis got it atrociously, one-hundred percent wrong. The thing about friends with benefits with Carmilla is that they were barely friends before. She still doesn't make Laura cocoa in the morning. She still steals her biscuits, sometimes entire meals (the Pad Thai Debacle had resulted in a three-day dry spell) and clogs up the shower drain and clogs up Laura's life by refusing to clear her mess. The literal, only benefit she is getting out of this is the sex, so Laura thinks that they've nailed the concept _perfectly_.

 

LaF meets up with Laura after class one day, walking with her back to the dorm. They bang the door open, and Carmilla squints at the company.

 

"Brought the cavalry, did you?" She yawns, rumpling a hand unnecessarily through her already messy hair. "Did I miss breakfast?"

 

"It's four PM," Laura says flatly, though she pulls a white chocolate and raspberry muffin from her bag and throws it towards Carmilla. Carmilla catches it, the confusion on her face mirrored on LaF's. "What? Don't tell me you don't like white choc and raspberry."

 

"You bought me a muffin," Carmilla says.

 

"I can't believe this is your breakfast." LaF snorts. "At least _you're_ getting some sleep. I was just grabbing a Starbucks with this one -" LaF pinches Laura's cheek, affectionate but hard, "- I swear she almost nodded off. In the process of getting caffeine, too! You're weak, Hollis."

 

"Ugh, if you'd have seen my assignment this week you would understand." Laura plops down on her armchair, rubbing her eyes. "It's impossible."

 

"You say that about all your assignments," LaF says, and Carmilla, clearly not caring for the conversation, returns to her book. The muffin goes with her, and for a moment Laura wonders if she's hiding the fact that she's eating it. "Didn't stop you from getting your full eight hours of sleep."

 

"I _am_ getting my full eight hours -"

 

"Shut _up_ , look the bags under your eyes! I don't want to sound like Perry but are you sure you're not getting ill or anything? You keep bundling up with your scarves and your ProPlus -"

 

Carmilla coughs from behind the book, and Laura hopes she's choking. "It might be the flu, I guess."

 

LaF shakes their head, picks up a post-it stack from the desk and lobs it at Carmilla's head. "You taking care of her, O Responsible Roomie?"

 

"As best I can," Carmilla says, saccharine. "Making sure she's well-nourished and well-exercised. Right, cupcake?"

 

They decide, after that, to keep their arrangement under wraps. There are a multitude of reasons for this, but residing at the top of their extensive list is the fact that Perry would probably have an aneurysm if she heard of such things going on on her floor. (Carmilla had argued that _everyone_ would've 'heard of such things' by now, 'you scream like you're in an opera, sweetheart' - but Laura had pointedly ignored this). Number two would be her dad and the aneurysm _he'd_ have.

 

"Secrets are more fun, anyway," Carmilla says, when they're walking through the darker parts of the library, going through Laura's extensive directed reading list. Carmilla seems to know where most of the books are off-by-heart. It's also sufficiently LaF-and-Perry-free, so Carmilla drapes an arm over her shoulder and tugs her close. By the time they're browsing through the bookshelves, she's nuzzling against the crook of Laura's neck.

 

"I'd hardly call secrets 'fun'," Laura snorts. She reaches up to pluck a book off the shelf. "Gallivanting about with some sort of hidden agenda."

 

"If you don't enjoy that part -" Carmilla's got one hand up her shirt, and honestly, Laura does not know how she has ended up in this situation, "- then you're doing it wrong."

 

It's dark, that's fine, but there's a horrified panic that Carmilla muffles with a kiss, pushing her up against the stacks. An utter violation of university property, the kind that would get her kicked out (and how would she explain such a thing to her dad?) if they got caught. But Carmilla's grinning against her mouth, tongue running over her lips. She's insistent, and the kiss is hard, and bruising. Her hands neglect unbuttoning her shirt, and are instead roaming up the curve of her back to unclasp the bra. Somehow they wriggle it off, their mouths still attached, and when Carmilla's fingers pinch her nipple, when her mouth moves to suck at the base of her throat, Laura gasps for air.

 

"This -" she pants, as quietly as she can, because someone out there is reading about Sumerian history and this is _not okay,_ "is not a film! You can't just - have - your way with me - in a - _library_!"

 

"Want me to stop?" Carmilla licks the skin of her neck, just above her pulse point and bites gently down. Laura's eyes roll so far back that they've probably come out the other end of her skull. She can feel Carmilla's knee, nudging her legs apart, and her fingers dig into Carmilla's shoulders. "Hm?"

 

"Don't you dare," Laura hisses, as Carmilla unbuttons her jeans. "I think I'm going to keel over."

 

"I'd recommend you grab something to hold onto, then," Carmilla murmurs, circling the wet patch on her underwear. "You been waiting all day for this, or something?" And then (maybe she has), Carmilla presses her fingers inside her.

 

She can't help it; she cries out, hips jerking forward. Carmilla staggers backwards, if only by a couple of centimetres, and they both still their movements. The harsh grounding to reality feels a little bit like that moment when you're sitting on a toilet in a club and you're hammered. They stare at each other, eyes wide, two fingers still very much inside of Laura. A few seconds later, there's no mortified yelps of _'hey, what are you two doing?_ ' and Carmilla snickers.

 

"The thing about secrets is," she whispers, draws out her fingers and then thrusts them back in, deep, rough. She holds them there, still, and Laura buries her face against Carmilla's shoulder, clinging on for dear life. "You're supposed to keep them quiet."

 

"Oh my god." Laura digs her nails into Carmilla's upper arm, hoping she gets the bloody message. "Carmilla, I swear -"

 

" _Cupcake_ ," gets whispered into her ear, and Laura swears to fucking God she is so sick of strange nicknames, "shut up."

 

"Don't tell me to shut up," Laura whispers back, shoving against Carmilla's chest. The other girl's briefly disorientated by the change of events, and Laura tries not to look at her fingers, glistening with her wetness. She wobbles forward a little, backs Carmilla into the bookshelf behind her. Laura's still-shaking hands undo Carmilla's impossible leather pants, and she makes sure she doesn't break her gaze. "I'll shut myself up."

 

They've fucked so many times now that Laura knows what Carmilla likes, and what makes her scream. She peppers tiny kisses along the side of Carmilla's neck, pushing against the length of her body. It's when she nibbles on Carmilla's earlobe, her fingers teasing the edge of Carmilla's underwear, that Carmilla grunts. "Laura," she says, sounding so plainly ashamed of crumbling so soon. "Just - don't even - just fuck me. _Fuck_."

 

Laura presses a kiss to her lips, and then kneels.

 

She can feel Carmilla tense, see her right hand grapple wildly behind her in search of a ledge to grip onto, the other hand she can feel tightening in her hair. Laura makes a mental note to apologise to all the poet laureates observing them from the shelves and pushes Carmilla's underwear aside, planting a soft kiss on the inside of her thighs, another kiss - a ghost of a kiss - on her clit, and she squirms above. She kisses again, harder, and then presses the flat of her tongue against it, taking a long, slow swipe.

 

The moan she gets from Carmilla is so loud, so borderline pornographic, that there's not a chance in frilly hell that nobody's going to spot them. And it's something that clearly crosses Carmilla's mind, because her hand loosens in Laura's hair, and all of a sudden, Laura is spurred on by an insatiable urge to make the entire library hear Carmilla _beg_ for her. She drags her tongue across her clit again, grinning at the _fuck you, Laura_ , her right hand moving upwards to cup the curve of Carmilla's ass. Carmilla's hips are beginning to move again, frantic, jerky thrusts; she sucks hard on her clit and then draws back, letting Carmilla whine for a total of two seconds before she pumps her fingers inside her.

 

"You're a fucking asshole," is the venom Carmilla spits at Laura when she straightens herself back up, smug, her fingers still thrusting inside her. They knock their foreheads together, and Laura presses a sloppy kiss against Carmilla's upper lip, her knees buckling slightly under the weight Carmilla's pressing down on her with her hand on her shoulder.

 

 _Almost,_ she thinks, as she feels Carmilla clench around her fingers, feels her smother another moan against her shoulder, and slows the pace. "Fuck -" Carmilla is sounding ragged, maybe a _little_ angry, "- _you_ , Laura."

 

"You're not -" Laura breaks off when Carmilla bites down on her shoulder, and _this_ is why she's not as good as Carmilla is with the dirty talk, it's that Carmilla has the audacity to be a dick even when Laura's got her fingers inside her, "- you're not gonna come if you're a jerk."

 

"Fuck - just -"

 

Laura stills her movements. "Ask me nicely."

 

"For _fuck's sake_ ," Carmilla drags it out, voice breaking at the end. "Please. _Please_. I swear, I'll fucking, I'll buy you fucking takeout for a month, fuck's sake, _fuck_ -"

 

It's enough - _pizza for an entire mouth subsidised_ \- and she drives her fingers back in, and Carmilla's hips are shifting in time with her pace, so erratic, so desperate that she's fucking herself on Laura's fingers as much as Laura's fucking her. She presses her thumb against Carmilla's clit, and surges forward to kiss her, open-mouthed, to save her from screaming George Orwell back to life.

 

"Fuck," Carmilla says, "fuck."

 

"We're never going to the library again," Laura says eventually, _what a violation,_ "I feel like there's going to be a patrol squad waiting for us when we leave."

 

"Shut - shut up." Carmilla shakes her head in disbelief, struggling to get her leather pants all the way up her quivering Bambi legs. "Oh god."

 

"You're buying me pizza tonight, by the way."

 

" _Fuck you,_ Laura."

 

 

-

 

 

One night, when she's procrastinating massively and hiding her guilt by stuffing her face with cookies, she scrolls past a status update on Elsie's facebook. Before she can help herself, and she's not entirely sure _why_ she feels like a dead weight's been dropped on her as soon as the words escape her lips, she asks: "Do you still see Elsie? Or the other girls?"

 

Not even a beat passes. "Why on earth would I?"

 

Laura's not entirely sure, either, why the dead weight floats off, feels like it's been carried away by angels and the melodic tune of a harp. "Just wondering."

 

It's nothing. Truly nothing, but it makes Laura grin as she taps away at her screen, opening a new Word document with promise. She steams away with five hundred words written in a decent amount of time, and she is already thinking of her next pizza order (the Jalapeno Monster) when she hears Carmilla's voice again.

 

"I can see your head expanding, Laura."

 

Laura's grin widens, and she doesn't even need to turn around to know that Carmilla's wearing the same expression.

 

 

-

 

 

Carmilla's a supremely grumpy twat any time of the day before five PM, but one Sunday morning, Laura wakes up late and Carmilla's emerging from the kitchen space, eyes still half-closed.

 

"I thought you said you were good with rom-coms," she says, and Laura blinks, because that doesn't make sense and it's too early to comprehend weird throwbacks to days gone past. Then a steaming TARDIS mug of cocoa is pressed into her hand, a grunt: "Fucking Tom Cruise", and Laura, laughing, understands.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and making it through the monstrous number of words! I appreciate it. :) As much of an unabashed cheesefest this is, I hope you enjoyed it. And I love the heck out of that JT/Mila Kunis film too, so I am glutton for this trope. lol
> 
> Have a lovely Sunday. :)
> 
> ETA: would like to apologise for the progressive lewdness- I'm a potty mouth and I think at the end of 9k words I was losing it...


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